Two Tragedies
by Rosette C. H
Summary: R has a dream. He would have made a lousy Pygmalion. Rating for slashy vibes, mostly.


The bed seemed harder than usual, Grantaire thought. Being off balance while lying down was a new experience. Otherwise, he didn't feel particularly hung-over. Maybe he was still drunk? He opened his eyes and immediately wished that he hadn't, although if one is going to fall asleep in some strange place, eventually he ought to find out where that was. He sat up. So, he was on the side of a hill. That would have explained the balance problem. So where was he? He didn't think he could have wandered into any unfamiliar bit of countryside from home, especially considering that he was smart enough not to get drunk around the people funding his alleged education. For that matter, he could have sworn it was the dead of winter, and yet all around him was green.

"Conscious, I see," a voice said uphill. He turned. The speaker appeared to be a young man, beautiful, of Mediterranean appearance. He went with no shirt, and wore what appeared to be a wreath of grape vine around his head. "Vulcan's forge, did they name you correctly. The "lame" part isn't literal, though, is it? You'll have to follow me a ways. Don't worry, you'll be perfectly steady on your feet. I'm good to my worshipers."

Grantaire blinked. "Well, that would explain it." He stood, brushing off his clothes a bit. After all, it did seem that he was in the presence of a god.

"I don't have to bother with introductions, do I?" Dionysus asked. "Good. Come with me. Do you have any questions?"

"Maenads?" It was the first thing that came to mind. The young god laughed.

"It seemed like a good idea to leave them behind. You do have a way of terrifying women. Come on, don't bother about checking the details. They're all more or less right. Any real questions?"

"Did it take anything beyond keeping several wine merchants employed to be honored with your presence?"

"That's more like it. Actually, you directed a follower of mine to the best restaurant in Paris for his money."

Grantaire was never one to believe good fortune quickly. "And that's all it takes, and a wretch gets some token of divine appreciation?"

"We are _Greek gods_, Claude-Fabrice. There's not a vice you won't find in at least one of us, from bestiality to chastity. You obviously fall into my jurisdiction, you did a favor for a friend, and it is my business to see you are properly rewarded."

"Rewarded how?" He asked, skeptically. "There's not a chance that I'll go home with donkey's ears, is there?"

"No. You already have its disposition, and that should be enough." The god actually snorted. They had reached a small, stone building. "Just in there."

Dionysus opened the door and ushered him inside. He froze. Beneath a skylight in the center of the room, there was a perfect _kouroi_- a sculpture of a young man in the ancient Greek style. Cold marble stared out into the distance, colorless with the exception of piercing blue eyes. "Don't look so surprised. And remember to whom you're speaking before you go asking how I knew. If there's anything more annoying than false humility, it's mortals that don't realize the sort of connections you can gather with so many years to fill." There was further stunned silence from Grantaire. "It's not painted any further because- well, to be honest, the artist could only be realistic with colors when painting whores. Go on, look closer." As instructed, he approached the marble boy. It was a marvel of the form; beautiful, of course, but more than that, almost noble, with a dignity of bearing. Can stone look hopeful? If somebody collapsed all good ambitions in the world, extracting the crimes committed in their names and the private vices into which they are twisted, into one essence, surely there could be no more perfect idol to it. Studying it, he brushed the cold, chiseled hair with his fingers-

Except that it was neither cold nor chiseled. As he touched the marble form, color spread over it, and stone turned to flesh. Grantaire pulled away in shock.

"What? I'd think you didn't like your present if it wasn't so obvious that you do."

Grantaire blushed, surprised that he was still capable of it. "Why change what's perfect?" He managed to ask.

"What isn't perfect now? A beautiful boy, as near to the image of the one you dream of nights as can be, but not so cold and forbidding, who in fact will forbid you nothing," the god explained. The living statue was staring at him. It was not conducive to clear-headed thought.

"That's a rather poor substitute for an idol," he explained as well as he could. 

Dionysus sighed. "I thought you had a better grasp of how to accept pleasure than that. Keep him, refuse him, I don't care. Perhaps I'll give him to my brother. Or perhaps I won't, but now I know you'll be thinking about that for some time. But I won't replace him. And those who do not accept our gifts find us less generous in the future."

On that note, he awoke, in his own bed and with a splitting headache, this time. Cold and alone. Of course.


End file.
